Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

Idle hands are the devil's workshop Or so I've been told My idle hands have been baking, Writing, reading, typing, clicking, Cooking, cleaning, washing Themselves into a slow oblivion The hands on the clock stand still Yet my hands and mind cannot Idle hours are precious when scarce But a curse when in abundance

Dear Simon, I'm writing this letter to you because I miss you dearly. It seems like only yesterday we were swimming in the creek by the estate, and you commented how my skin glows so deliciously in the sun. But you left me, and that was your choice. Now I'm stranded in this massive villa all alone, with just my echoes as company. I won't dwell on this point too much and guilt you, for I know your abandonment must be weighing heavy on your heart. I'm also writing to tell you about my recent afflictions, as I have no one else who will listen. Roughly six months ago, I began to develop a case of insomnia. Normally my eyelids would flutter closed at no later than midnight, but recently I haven't been able to sleep until three or four o'clock in the morning. When I do manage to fall asleep, the quality of rest is abysmal, filled with short nightmares and night sweats. Laura, our maid, and Helga, the cook, don't sleep in the house, of course, for they have t...

I tapped my foot impatiently As the grocery clerk tried to find The code to scan my tomatoes Now, I see that I'd been ungrateful For the backbone of our society: Grocery store workers Truck drivers Post office workers Trash collectors And doctors and nurses, of course Like your spine, you rarely appreciate it When it's not broken But if your spine breaks, then You collapse Thank you to all the unsung heroes Who are making sure we have Dinner to put on the table Food and medicine in stores Clean streets And healthy people We see you and appreciate you

As crimson skies do turn to grey So young trees rattle and decay What once was golden is now bronze Once full of pros, now smeared with cons An apple, forgotten, growing old On the table, ripe with mold It was juicy just yesterday But now it's foreign as a stray As heavy hearts do hollow out So does the aching sense of doubt Once a lovely carefree spree Now, dead, crucified on the tree An apple, forgotten, painful, lonely A single apple, but it's not the only

A few years ago, during the penultimate semester in my university career, a tragedy struck my classmates and me. While much time has passed, my thoughts often drift back to this time, and I wonder why it had affected me so much. In my fourth year of university, I was still under the foolish impression that I would graduate to be a top-of-the-line lawyer, a legal advocate for women's rights, a leader in the profession. It was a career path that I quickly learned was not right for me at all, but at the time, I thought it was my destiny. Hence, I took a non-mandatory tort and contract law class on Tuesdays from 6 to 8:45 pm. My professor, let's just call him Mr. F, was a loud, energetic presence in the room. He would pace around the front of the room, scribbling things on the board here and there, and using a handkerchief to mop the sweat off his brow every fifteen minutes or so. He was clearly very passionate about his career in law. The one case he taught us that struck out ...

I remember sushi and white wine Laying on the couch, entwined Singing high pitched shower tunes Re-watching childhood cartoons I remember spending all day in bed Going out all night instead Taking a bus around the block Having a picnic on a rock Red roses crumbling on the floor Carrying me up through the door Cooking spaghetti for two I miss the memory of you It's all snippets in the mind Of the time that's left behind I love myself and my mind too Which means I will always love you Not you as who you are today But the memory which will stay

If I could be a hedonist just for a day I'd drink and I'd gamble my whole day away I'd lay twisted up with you under the sheets And eat a copious amount of ice cream and sweets If I could be a hedonist just for a week My outlook on life would be a bit less bleak I'd bathe in wine and swim in iced tea I'd sunbathe all day near the blue sea Why are we taught that pleasure's a sin? When it's the only thing that provokes a grin I could sit all day with drool on my chin I could wear just slippers and bare my skin It's how nature intended for us to be Eating fruit, naked, beneath a pine tree Don't be afraid of the tale of Adam and Eve We've grieved enough for humanity I have not an ounce of moping left to spare Life's too short to be stuck in one square If I could believe that we could be free Then a happy hedonist, I would be